Into That Good Night
by Newromantic
Summary: Something's out there - watching, waiting to strike. *Complete*
1. Close Of Day

Disclaimer: They're not mine. I forget who owns them, but it's definitely not me. Something to do with some kind of Reptile, I think...  
  
Into That Good Night  
  
Do not go gentle into that good night,   
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;   
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   
(Dylan Thomas)  
  
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Chapter One: Close Of Day  
  
Night Terrors - the official psychiatric name for waking up in the middle of the night, screaming as though the world around you is crashing down and there's not a damn thing you can do to stop it.  
  
Ever since I was little I've suffered from Night Terrors. As a child I would be jolted awake by my mother shaking me, desperately trying to stop the piercing screams coming from my throat. She always knew exactly what to say; what to do to make the nightmares go away.  
  
After she died, the dreams came back. Stronger, more intense than they had ever been before. My father suggested seeing a councillor but in my adolescent mind I came to the conclusion that he just had no idea how to cope with me. So, as rebellious as I could be, I refused professional help.  
  
After a time they went away again. Much the same as when I was a child. One night I went to bed, and I slept well. They didn't come back. Perhaps my subconscious mind had forgiven my father long before my conscious, perhaps I had at last found peace with my mother's ghost, I doubt I will ever really know. All I do know for sure is that whatever the reason, I was just grateful they were gone.  
  
No, not gone. Dormant is probably a more accurate way to describe where they lay, and now, after over fifteen years of mostly pleasant dreams, they've returned to haunt me.  
  
One night last week I went to bed at ten - unusual for me as I normally work well into the witching hour. In my defence I was feeling unusually tired as we had only just returned from offworld.   
  
Leaving the base I noticed with some measure of surprise that the night was a lot darker and more oppressive than normal. The base's exterior is always lit up like a Christmas Tree twenty-four hours a day, so at first it felt like nothing out of the ordinary. I was lost deep in thought as I drove out of the complex and headed for the freeway. So much so that I didn't notice the car in front of me had slammed his brakes on suddenly and I came within a Hare's breath of shooting right into his rear fender.  
  
After the initial shock and a few measured, deep breaths I completed my journey, shaky and somewhat more alert, but uninjured.  
  
The minute I turned off the engine I noticed how eerie the night sky looked. Despite the darkness, it was easy to see the grey clouds overhead, covering the stars like a blanket. I shivered involuntarily before returning my attention to securing the wheel lock. Stepping out of the car I locked the door behind me and began walking up the pathway to my front door.  
  
For the entirety of the short walk from my vehicle to the security of my home, I was convinced someone was watching me. Years of self-defence lessons taught me never to look back when you think you're being followed, instead it is a much safer idea to watch for shadows around you. That way you can (allegedly) prepare yourself for an attack from behind.  
  
The trouble with this theory is that due to the cloud cover, the moon was well hidden and therefore casting no shadows over anything. Surreptitiously, I placed my door key between the knuckles of my index and forefinger, and steadied myself for impact.   
  
Let them come, I thought. Determinedly trying to convince myself I was braver than I felt, whilst simultaneously wishing for an MP5. There was no way in hell I was going down without a fight.  
  
But no one came. Quickening my pace I reached my front door, unlocked it and went inside, never once looking behind me. As soon as I was safely ensconced within my home I switched on the exterior security lights and peered through the net curtains.  
  
Nothing.   
  
Mildly surprised, but somewhat relieved that I was more than likely being paranoid, I shook my head and dumped my bag on the sofa before setting about making coffee.  
  
The rest of my evening passed without further incident, but for some inexplicable reason, I just couldn't relax. Despite the constant reassuring noises coming from the television, I still felt ill at ease. Over the course of three hours I rang Janet, Daniel and even the Colonel, hoping that some form of human conversation would still my fluttering nerves, but it didn't work.  
  
Daniel and the Colonel were ignorant to my irrational fear, and chatted amiably with me for a while until I ran out of conversation topics and ended the call, but Janet, who knows me way too well, realised immediately that something was wrong.  
  
After a forced confession she offered immediately to come over and keep me company, leaving Cassandra to her own devices...a plan that the teenager was quick to approve seeing as she was constantly trying to show she was trustworthy. But after gossiping about inconsequential nonsense for over an hour I was feeling more than a little foolish about my insecurities and politely refused.  
  
I hung up the receiver and went straight to bed. Less than an hour later I was beginning to regret making such a rash decision.  
  
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More to come dependant on people's responses... 


	2. Dark Is Right

Disclaimer: They're not mine. I forget who owns them, but it's definitely not me. Something to do with some kind of Reptile, I think...  
  
Into That Good Night  
  
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,   
Because their words had forked no lightning they   
Do not go gentle into that good night.   
(Dylan Thomas)  
  
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Chapter Two: Dark Is Right  
  
You know when you're lying in bed, and you're in that grey area where you're not quite asleep, but you're also not awake? Well, that's where I was when it happened.   
  
I'd been in bed for around forty-five minutes when I first heard the noise. My time in the military has trained my senses to be ever aware - even when sleeping. So you can probably imagine my eyes suddenly snapping open and my hearing becoming very alert as I realised there was something *very* wrong.  
  
Someone was in the room with me.  
  
Despite having been in my bedroom for some time, I had immediately tried to sleep and therefore my eyes hadn't been given the chance to adjust to the darkness. So for all intents and purposes, I was as blind as a bat. Panic began to seep into me as I heard the noise again, but this time it was closer. A strange, scratching sound that could never be justified by Schroedinger, my well-travelled cat. Having said that, it wasn't just the noise that had alerted me to this intruder.  
  
I could actually *smell* him.  
  
My senses were assaulted with the strange, overpowering odour of masculinity combined with something I couldn't quite place. It surrounded this intruder and I felt like I couldn't breath. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and I began to feel dizzy. Strangely enough for someone with my history, I had never suffered a panic attack before and it was truly a terrifying experience.  
  
Forcing myself to act professionally, I concentrated on slowing my breathing and clearing my head, then I weighed up my options. As far as I figured, I had three choices. Either I jump out of bed as quickly as possible and run for the door in the dark; I pretend to still be asleep and jump them off guard, or I talk to whoever was here and try to stop them doing whatever they had come to do.  
  
I realised pretty quickly that owing to my moment of panic, there was no way in hell the 'person' would think I was still asleep, so the element of surprise was definitely out. It was also incredibly likely that they had been there long enough to allow their eyes to adjust, and they could see me a lot better than I could see them, so bolting for the door would be a waste of time.  
  
Many times I have thought about investing in a personal handgun, but I never got around to buying one. I think part of the reason behind my procrastination is my knowledge of what happened to the Colonel's son. I know my situation is different, and it's very rare that I have any minors in the house, but still I think I would feel uneasy knowing there was such a lethal weapon in my home.  
  
Notwithstanding wishing I had something to protect myself with that night, I still hold to the fact that guns are dangerous when they get into the wrong hands. Imagine if someone had broken into my home and found it. I think it's bad enough knowing someone has been going through your personal belongings, but it would be so much worse if they get hold of a gun. Despite the amount of times I've been forced to fire upon the enemy, I don't think I could live with the prospect of some innocent person dying at the hands of my weapon.  
  
However, as you can imagine, my thoughts at that moment in time were somewhat contradictory.  
  
Deciding quickly that my only viable option was to talk to the intruder, I took a deep, steadying breath, turned over, and faced my destiny.  
  
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If you like it, I'll write more. Just let me know... 


	3. Frail Deeds

Disclaimer: They're not mine. I forget who owns them, but it's definitely not me. Something to do with some kind of Reptile, I think...  
  
Into That Good Night  
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright   
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,   
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   
(Dylan Thomas)  
  
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Chapter Three: Frail Deeds  
  
As a child, like most, I was inexplicably terrified of the Monsters and Ghouls that I believed hid under my bed or in my closet, only to pounce on me in the night. And it was that same irrational, childlike fear that clutched at my heart as I turned over to confront my intruder.   
  
Unsurprisingly, as these things often are, there was no one there. Sighing in relief at my own paranoia, I leaned over and switched on my bedside lamp. Immediately the shadows that had cast eerie pictures on my walls dissipated into nothing and I found myself laughing humourlessly at the ridiculousness of the whole situation.  
  
Running a still shaking hand through my hair, I kicked off the covers and donned my dressing gown before heading to the kitchen for some much needed water.  
  
I knew from the moment I had turned on the light that there was no one in the room except me, but I still felt incredibly unsettled as I realised the strange smell that had alerted me to a masculine presence, had lingered.  
  
Despite knowing that I was safe in my own home, and, in the harsh light that now illuminated my room, finding the entire situation completely ridiculous, I nonetheless took a moment to check the catch on my bedroom window before making my way down the hall and into the kitchen.  
  
Owing to the unsettling evening I'd had so far, I found myself flicking on light switches as I walked through the house, eliciting comfort from their warm glow, checking each and every room for any signs of unwelcome visitors before finally reaching my destination.  
  
In the hall, Schroedinger mewed at me in greeting and I took a comforting moment to reach down and stroke his warm fur before following him into the kitchen where he regarded me impassively for a moment before high tailing it through his cat flap and into the night.  
  
Smiling, I searched for the light switch and pressed the button, but the bulb merely flickered and died. Cursing myself for forgetting to buy more, I reached blindly into the kitchen drawer and produced a torch. Using this and the dim light from the bulb in the hall outside to see, I reached into another cupboard and pulled out a glass. I placed the torch on the breakfast bar, facing the sink and turned on the cold water, letting it run freely for a moment before filling my glass.  
  
Despite having my heating on full, the chill in the night air combined with my now easing paranoia caused me to shiver involuntarily. My night-clothes consisted of nothing more than a pair of loose cotton pyjama bottoms and an old military issue tank top that bought back fond memories of an early interlude with the Colonel. Ridiculously enough, this reason alone had persuaded me to keep it despite the fact that due to overuse, it was now little more than a rag and therefore not fit to be worn outside of my home.   
  
The rain was beating harder on the windows now, and I put my glass down for a moment in order to pull my cotton dressing gown tighter around my goose-bumped flesh.  
  
Images of Colonel O'Neill's face bought some desperately needed comfort to my mind, and I smiled wistfully as I turned off the faucet and took a long drink of water.  
  
And here's where I made my biggest mistake of the night.  
  
I closed my eyes, savouring the feel of the cool aqua sliding down my parched throat. I should have kept them open, remained alert to the sounds around me, but believe me when I say my actions were involuntary.  
  
As my eyelids flickered closed and I smiled in satisfaction against the glass at my lips, someone grabbed me from behind.   
  
The glass slid from my grasp and shattered on the floor as a hand clamped hard over my mouth and a voice hissed "Don't make a sound."  
  
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Getting irritated yet? All will be revealed in the next chapter...that is if you want a next chapter... 


	4. Wild Men

Disclaimer: They're not mine. I forget who owns them, but it's definitely not me. Something to do with some kind of Reptile, I think...  
  
Into That Good Night  
  
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,   
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,   
Do not go gentle into that good night.  
(Dylan Thomas)  
  
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Chapter Four: Wild Men  
  
I froze.  
  
Naturally, and despite all my years of Military training, I froze. Fear enveloped my body and mind, paralysing me, and no matter what the consequences were of this terrifying moment, I will *never* forgive myself for being unable to stop the attack.  
  
The voice was heavy in my ear, demanding I succumb to his will, as I desperately tried to remember at least some basic self-defence; Solar Plexus, Instep, Nose, Groin. Thank God and Daniel for forcing me to watch 'Miss Congeniality' a few days earlier.  
  
I struggled beneath my attackers tight grip. His right arm had moved and was encircling my waist, higher than before, pressing into me hard; my face against the wall, whilst his left hand remained clamped firmly over my stunned mouth. I could feel his entire body pushed up hard against mine, pinning me down. I tried to scream, honest to God, I tried, but no sound came out. I concentrated hard on breathing though my nose, trying to stop the panic attack building up high in my chest, and finding my paralysis fading, I attempted to bite the hand covering my dry lips. But whoever had me knew their shit, and they had ensured that I couldn't get a grip.  
  
I tried to concentrate on every movement made by this man, every sound, and every smell.  
  
Every smell.  
  
My heart caught in my throat. It was the wrong smell. I suddenly realised through the panic and fog encompassing my dizzy mind that it wasn't the same odour that had lingered in my room, it was different...*nicer* somehow.  
  
I can't explain the train my thoughts were taking at that moment. Even at the time I couldn't believe that my main coherent thought was that my attacker smelled good, but he did. More than that, I recognised it from somewhere, but where?  
  
Then it hit me, like a bolt out of the blue and I laughed, suddenly, shortly, hysterically.   
  
The Colonel.  
  
It was the same smell that surrounded the Colonel after he came out of the showers. A pleasant, slightly musky smell of men's deodorant that I'd always loved so much.  
  
My captor spoke again. A quiet voice whispering, hissing in my ear.  
  
"Quit struggling. He'll hear us!"  
  
The grip loosened suddenly, allowing me to turn around in the man's embrace. Despite the darkness of the room, I was close enough to see my captor's face.  
  
The sight that greeted me made my knees weaken involuntarily, and I nearly passed out from shock and relief.  
  
"Colonel?"  
  
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Sorry, yet another cliffhanger. Ah, what are you gonna do?  
  
The feedback so far has been much appreciated, and yes, Shiplover, there *will* be Shippiness - if you all keep letting me know what you think! 


	5. Blind Eyes

Disclaimer: They're not mine. I forget who owns them, but it's definitely not me. Something to do with some kind of Reptile, I think...  
  
Into That Good Night  
  
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight   
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,   
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   
  
(Dylan Thomas)  
  
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Chapter Five: Blind Eyes  
  
A sob escaped my throat as I reached out and tentatively touched his cheek with my fingertips. He, in turn, muttered an expletive unfit to repeat and pulled me hard into his warm, comforting embrace.  
  
After a long moment, he pulled away from me slightly and rubbed his hands soothingly up and down my arms.  
  
"Carter, listen. This is really important."  
  
But I wasn't paying attention. Without warning, the overwhelming gratitude for his presence had disappeared and been replaced by confusion and some measure of outrage. My relief at discovering I was safe, combined with being mighty pissed off at his intrusion is all I have in defence for the actions that followed.  
  
I punched him. Hard.  
  
Even the fleeting realisation that I could be court-marshalled for hitting a superior officer did not stop my right fist from taking a swing and connecting with his cheekbone as I (incoherently) yelled; "What the hell are you doing here? You scared the hell out of me, you son of a bitch!"  
  
Despite the pain I must have inflicted on the poor man, his reactions were still quick enough to grab my hand and pin it behind my back, whilst simultaneously pushing me back up against the wall.   
  
I'm ashamed to say that despite the urgency of the situation, not to mention the fact that there was *another* intruder in my house, my body seemed, on the whole, to be rather busy enjoying the feeling of his entire six-foot-odd frame pressed intimately against mine. Not to mention what the close proximity of his face to mine was doing to my libido.   
  
The Carter/O'Neill history has dictated for the last six years that our timing always be *way* off. And it seemed on this night that nothing had changed. My free hand...the one *not* uncomfortably pinned behind me... was placed in defence against his chest, and I could feel his heart beating hard and fast against my palm. His breathing had shallowed - as had mine, and I could see his shadowed image becoming more and more blurry as our faces inched closer together. My pulse quickened, and I could feel nervous excitement build up low in my stomach as his breath washed over my face.  
  
Closer...  
  
And closer together...  
  
Until...  
  
Everything went black. The power in my entire house had gone out. Shaken from our untimely moment of intimacy, the Colonel released my arm and looked quickly behind him.  
  
"Bastard's cut the power." He muttered, reaching behind him and pulling out a gun.  
  
Unable to take the suspense any longer, I grabbed his sleeve, forcing him to face me again as I hissed "What the hell is going on Sir? Who's in my house?"  
  
I listened attentively as Colonel O'Neill switched back into full military mode and explained briefly our situation.  
  
Apparently, he had become concerned about me after I had called him earlier that evening (understandable seeing as I very rarely phoned my CO just to have a chat) and had decided to come over and make sure I was okay.  
  
The lights had been out when he arrived - which must have meant I was already in bed - but just as he was about to turn around and go back home, he saw someone climbing through my bedroom window.  
  
My heart stopped beating for a moment when he said this. I'd been right after all. Someone *was* in my bedroom when I woke up, and the scratching noise I heard must have been them opening and closing my bedroom door.  
  
Luckily for me, my entire house was now pitch black and therefore he couldn't see my face as I paled at the thought of someone being in my room. So, uninterrupted, he continued.  
  
"I decided that instead of calling the cops, it was best if I went in myself and captured him. After all," he continued, the light-hearted teasing evident in his voice, "last time you had a stranger in your house, he turned out to be an alien and I figured maybe he'd started a trend."  
  
I laughed wryly, despite myself, and accepted the proffered gun he had placed in my hand. "You good to go?" he muttered as I heard him pull the clip back on his own weapon.  
  
"Can't see a damn thing, Sir." I whispered in reply, grabbing my torch with my free hand "But yeah, lets go."  
  
Seeing as I knew the layout of my house better than my CO, he allowed me to take point as we headed the short distance to the Electric mains. I shone the torch light onto the power grid. The cable leading from mains had, indeed, been severed and there was no way in hell even *I* could fix it quickly enough.  
  
The Colonel tapped me briefly on the shoulder and indicated towards the basement. I nodded in reply and headed off back towards my bedroom. Despite my professional demeanour, I couldn't help but feel more than a little frightened. I'd lost count of the number of times we'd been in situations like these, always lead by the weapon in my hands, but never certain of what could be around the next corner. The thing is, under normal circumstances, I thrived on this type of scenario, revelling in the buzz the rush of adrenaline gave me. But this was different. We weren't off world, trying desperately to save some doomed civilisation, or fighting the Goa'uld on some ship in outer space. No, we were in my own home, my sanctuary. And this reason alone ceased any attempts at professionalism. This was a purely personal situation and it made me really, really mad that some bastard had the all out nerve to force me into bringing my work home with me.  
  
Just as I reached my bedroom I heard two shots fired from behind me. Without thinking I turned and raced blindly back towards the basement, resolutely ignoring the pain that lanced through my hip as it connected with the kitchen table.  
  
I ran as fast as I could down the stairs and into the cold basement where my torch found Colonel O'Neill laying face down on the floor, a pool of blood spreading onto the concrete next to his prone body.  
  
I went through the motions of securing the immediate area before rushing over to my Commanding Officer and kneeling down next to him. Carefully, so as not to injure him any further, I placed my hands on his shoulders and turned him over, resting his head on my lap.  
  
His pulse was weak and thready and I knew without a doubt that he wasn't going to make it. Tears began streaming down my face as I stroked his cheek gently with my hand, wishing fervently for a Goa'uld healing device.  
  
The Colonel stirred slightly under my touch and opened his eyes. "Carter?" he murmured, wincing as more pain invaded his weak body.  
  
"Hey, Sir." Despite my inner agony, I attempted a smile. "You're gonna be fine. Just lay still." The lie tripped easily off my tongue, but I knew as soon as I had said it that he would know I was lying, but still he kept his council.  
  
He grasped my hand in his and held on to me as if his life depended on it. Fighting back more tears in a futile attempt to be strong, I stroked his face with my free hand and asked, "Did you see who did this?"  
  
"*I* did."  
  
Grabbing my torch I waved it frantically around me, trying desperately to find the owner of the voice. I knew immediately from the tinny sound of the voice that I was dealing with a Goa'uld, and for a fleeting moment I wondered why they had used such a 'primitive' weapon to harm Colonel O'Neill, when their weaponry was so much more effective.  
  
Colonel O'Neill exhaled one last time, his grip on my hand loosened and he died just as the Goa'uld stepped out of the shadows and into my torchlight.  
  
Oh God no.  
  
The words sprung into my mind as tears fell freely down my face. My Colonel, the one man I loved more than anything else in the world was dead, and my worst nightmare was standing in front of me, pointing a gun at my head.  
  
Mark, my own brother.  
  
He pulled the trigger and fired.  
  
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Bet you weren't expecting that!  
  
Final chapter coming soon. But only if you send feedback! 


	6. The Dying Of The Light

Disclaimer: They're not mine. I forget who owns them, but it's definitely not me. Something to do with some kind of Reptile, I think...  
  
Into That Good Night  
  
And you, my father, there on the sad height,   
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.   
Do not go gentle into that good night.   
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   
  
(Dylan Thomas)  
  
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Chapter Six: Rage Against The Dying Of The Light  
  
As I said earlier, these night terrors would ensure I woke up every time, my throat emitting screams loud enough to wake the dead.   
  
And in all these years, nothing had changed. I awoke suddenly to find myself screaming the Colonel's name, violently shaking; sweat and tears raining down my face.  
  
Slowly reality fought it's way back to my conscious, and I found myself locked in a cell, once again a prisoner of the Goa'uld.  
  
Too weak to raise myself into a sitting position, I remained lying down on the cold wooden bench. Turning my head slightly I tried to look around me, desperate for a friendly face. My breathing was more controlled now, and I managed to raise a limp hand to wipe at my tear stained cheeks.   
  
The room was dark, and images of my own brother pointing a lethal weapon at me flooded my mind so suddenly my breath caught in my throat.  
  
"Major Carter?"  
  
Never in my life have I been so happy to hear a familiar voice and I tried in earnest to raise my head and get a better look around.   
  
"Teal'c? Where are you?" I noticed, with some measure of surprise that my voice was weak and throaty. What the hell was going on? For some inexplicable reason my mind was struggling to remember the last few hours of my life. It was caught somewhere between lying in this damp, dark cell, desperately searching for the face belonging to the voice, and holding my hands up in some futile defence against the gun held in my brothers hand.  
  
"We're in the next cell, Sam. Are you okay?"   
  
Jonas. Thank God for sweet, naive Jonas. I smiled to myself as images of his innocent face, filled with wonder invaded my burning mind.  
  
In fact, as I thought about it, I realised my whole body was burning. Pain so intense that I could hardly breath was invading every pore of my skin. An agony the likes of which I had never before experienced.  
  
Then my memory returned.  
  
Not slowly, you understand; No subtle moments of clarity leaking into my mind, easing me gently back to reality, but suddenly, obtrusively, sharply. Like my own mind was raping my consciousness with facts that I immediately wished had remained forgotten.  
  
We were in Nirrti's prison.   
  
Oh, God. We were in Nirrti's prison, and I really was dying.  
  
I cried out suddenly as everything came flooding back, the physical pain I was feeling, nothing in comparison to the emotional agony I suddenly endured.  
  
"Sam?" Jonas sounded concerned now, and my usual, very bizarre maternal instincts for the newest member of the team suddenly forced their way to the surface and I made a conscious effort to control my breathing; to calm down.  
  
"I'm okay Jonas. Just had a bad dream is all."  
  
"I know." He replied, matter of factly. "I didn't realise you suffered from night terrors Sam."  
  
Despite my very apparent agony, I looked across the bars at my team-mates, who, in turn, were staring worriedly back at me.  
  
"How did you learn about Night Terrors?" I asked, before realising, through the fog of pain, that conversation was a really bad idea when your DNA is trying to re-write itself.  
  
"I read it somewhere." He replied, almost embarrassed at his above average intellect, and constant hunger for information. "I've read pretty much everything in Doctor Jackson's library, so Doctor Frasier said I could borrow some of her medical journals."  
  
Suddenly I realised the Colonel was missing. Ignoring the pain coursing through my body, I forced myself to sit up slightly. "Where's Colonel O'Neill?" I asked, too weak to try and mask the panic in my voice.  
  
There was an uncomfortable pause on the other side of the bars and I looked over at Jonas and Teal'c.  
  
"Guys?" I repeated, slowly and meticulously. "Where's the Colonel?"  
  
They looked at each other before Jonas spoke up. "With Nirrti." He said quietly.  
  
"Oh God." Tears flowed down my face in earnest and the pain inside my body returned tenfold, forcing me to lie back down.  
  
I closed my eyes in anguish. It was bad enough that I was dying - and there was absolutely no doubt that that was true, but why did she have to kill him too?  
  
Wanting nothing more than to curl into a tight ball and pretend that I was still dreaming, I closed my eyes and let the tears fall, mingling with the perspiration already moistening my face.  
  
Now, I'm not a religious person. I have a hard time believing in any form of Deity - not just because of what the Goa'uld have done, but also because, as a scientist, I need to see tangiable evidence before I can accept any theories. Having said that, I believe that at that moment, all my prayers were answered. Because just as I was giving up hope and began to pray for death to come swiftly, I heard the bars of my cage rising and footsteps on the floor.   
  
Giving another shot at fighting the inevitable, refusing one last time to give in to this Good Night, I opened my eyes for what I was sure would be the last time, and I saw an angel.  
  
Colonel O'Neill was coming towards me.   
  
He was alive. Oh, God. He was okay.  
  
Convinced I was hallucinating, I desperately tried to reach out and touch him, but my body was not willing to obey orders and my arms remained at my sides.  
  
Refusing to give up on myself, I tried another tactic. "Sir." I murmured. It was all I could do.  
  
Something unrecognisable to most flashed in his eyes. But I knew what it was. The same look I had so often desperately tried to hide in my own.  
  
Love.  
  
Despite the raw emotion in his eyes, he said nothing. Instead, he just scooped me up into his strong arms and ran.  
  
End  
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I hope you all enjoyed it, and thanks a lot for all the support and feedback I received throughout this little work-avoidance exercise.   
  
Please be nice and let me know what you thought of the ending. Were there too many twists? Was it an Anti-climax? Were you expecting the whole 'Metamorphosis' allusion?  
  
We can only get better with constructive feedback!  
  
Newromantic. 


	7. Do Not Go Gentle

I thought maybe you'd all like to read the poem that I used, from beginning to end.  
This is, In my opinion, one of the most powerful and emotive poems ever written.  
  
I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do.  
  
DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT  
  
Do not go gentle into that good night,   
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;   
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   
  
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,   
Because their words had forked no lightning they   
Do not go gentle into that good night.   
  
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright   
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,   
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   
  
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,   
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,   
Do not go gentle into that good night.   
  
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight   
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,   
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   
  
And you, my father, there on the sad height,   
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.   
Do not go gentle into that good night.   
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   
  
Dylan Thomas 


End file.
